Greg & Allison's Infinite Playlist
by workNprogress
Summary: A series of drabbles inspired by songs. Does not have to be read in order. Inspired by Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist. House/Cameron pairing.
1. Bad Habits

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Those rights belong to David Shore and the awesome people at FOX who have kept House on the air. I also do not own "Bad Habits" by Maxwell.

Author's Note: For those wondering, yes I was inspired by Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist (the book, not the movie) but this is not a linear story. Just a series of drabbles that do not have to be read in any order and each chapter will be the song title, so you can skip to your favorites when I get more chapters up. Also, I've taken a few liberties with the lyrics. I haven't changed a single word but I have, and probably will in the future, post some verses and choruses that are not in the order that the song was written. I write how the mood strikes me and sometimes the story doesn't run linear to the song. I hope you enjoy and I'd love to know what you think.

Author's Note Part 2: It has come to my attention that using an artist's song lyrics in fanfic can leave me liable to copyright infringement and a possible lawsuit. So from here on out, I will only give song titles until I verify whether this is true or not.

Bad Habits

His therapist warned him about trading addictions before he was released. He was an escapist by nature, according to his chart that he filched from his therapist's office. Apparently he was prone to abuse any outlet that provided pleasure. Sounded about right. Of course, who wouldn't seek out pleasure if they were in a constant state of pain, like he was now as he sat on the couch, his thumb pushing into his thigh muscle. _Where the hell is she?_

His thumb froze as he heard footsteps thump closer to the door. Too heavy to be a man's. Not sharp enough to be heels. Light enough, however, to be Cameron's. He limped to the door and pulled it open, her fist suspended in mid-knock. She dropped it down to her side.

"Hey."

"Hey," he replied.

She brushed past him and he grabbed her bicep, closed the door and pinned her up against it.

"I thought you wanted to show me your new place?" she tried to appear unaffected. Her purse slid off her shoulder and fell to the floor, forgotten. He slipped his hands under the shoulders of her trench coat and pushed it off her body, careless of the beige color.

"Later," he said.

He stepped back, holding on loosely to her hand and led her deeper into the loft toward a canopy bed in the corner. The white drapes were secured to the posts, revealing a plump white comforter tattooed with silver designs. The black lacquer on the wood seemed at odds with the brick wall it leaned against, yet so did her pink scrubs and her beige coat. So did _this_ seem at odds with everything she promised on her wedding day. She asked him once what he would've done if he could've been there. Her face couldn't hide the flicker of hope. He told her the truth. He wouldn't have done a damn thing, just gotten drunk and gorged on cake, maybe even caused a scene. The lie slipped in easily amongst the others he told himself. A month out and already he settled back into bad habits, only fore-going vicodin because he had no desire to bring Amber back...or Kutner. Still, the other habits remained as well as a new one, or a substitute, as his shrink would call it. Cameron. Who knew marriage could be a recipe for an affair?

They reached the bed and each began peeling off their own clothes; House having more layers than Cameron meant she was always undressed before him. He knew she purposely wore fewer layers than appropriate just so she could watch him. Thankfully, he liked being warm more than he liked beating her at her own game. Maybe he had changed.

He kept his back to her and quickened his strip-tease but her gaze made his skin itch. As he popped open his pants, he allowed himself to imagine how she must look staring at him. Sprawled on top of the comforter, legs crossed in a challenge, her hair draped over the pillow, and an absent-minded finger tracing circles on her thigh. Was she smiling? In his fantasy she was. He stepped out of his pants and glanced at her over his shoulder. She smirked. Close enough.

An outsider might view their prelude as clinical. Where was the emotion? Where was the grand gestures? Where's the passion? But they weren't those kind of people. This wasn't about passion, or romance or feeling like something was missing. This was taking a moment, or two, each day to roll into bed with somone who gets you. A chance to taste the dream before going back to gulping down lies. The only problem was lately the lies and the dream were beginning to taste the same.

The loft was going to be the end of their escapades; the knowing clutched in his lungs as he crawled across the bed to join her. He pried open her thighs with a disbelieving look and settled his hips between them, her wet warmth coating his hard-on.

"How long do you have?" he asked, his voice harsh in the silence.

"An few hours."

He raised an eyebrow. "How did you swing that?"

She cradled his cheeks in her hands and pushed her fingertips through the soft bristles of his scruff.

"I learned from the best," she replied.

Her kiss was soft, reverant like a prayer and though a part of him boiled to get rough, remind himself that this was purely physical, he returned her kiss just as soft. Something about the expensive mattress made this more intimate then all the other places they'd been. Call rooms, exam rooms, Wilson's office, Cuddy's office, the lab, none of those places left him feeling as open and naked as he did right here.

Her hands slid along his jaw to his hair, her nails scraped his scalp as her thighs clamped around his hips. He mentally filed away the feel of her moans in his throat, the slight tickle and the rush of warm breath going straight to his groin. He broke the kiss and positioned himself, his hand between them. He focused on her , loving the myriad of expressions that exploded across her face every time he entered her. Yet instead of slamming into her, he moved slowly, inching forward, feeling every pillowy muscle flex at his intrusion.

She looked at him confused. He knew she was used to him cramming as many rounds as possible into the moments they had together but as his hips met hers and he began a toe-curling rhythm, he forgot he was breaking all the rules he told her were grounds for ending this. She tried to speed him up, rocking her hips faster but he denied her. A few flutters around his cock set his teeth on edge but kept on, rocking them in perfect time. Her hair smelled of lemon and pomengranate. It clouded his senses and chipped at his barriers. Her moans sent him spiralling even deeper into his illusion. The one where he didn't let her get away and marry some pretty-boy wombat. The one where he didn't have to steal every moment with her because it was at his fingertips every morning. The one where he wasn't as harsh as he had to be.

She was close. He felt pinpricks of pain in his shoulders from her nails. The bed creaked like it was cracking against the brick wall as he unconsciously thrust harder.

"Please."

He acquiesced and hooked his elbows under her damp knees, spreading her wide and giving himself over completely. His body was tight as piano wire. His thigh burned. And like a crack in glass, he felt a sharp shift and he shattered, a yell ripped from his throat as lights blinked in front of his eyes.

The silence returned and he slowly let her legs down before rolling onto his back, sucking in air like he almost drowned.

"I should go," she panted. She hurled herself off the bed and began gathering her clothes.

He wanted to stop her. To remind her that she said she had a few hours but he understood. He needed to break from her. With each encounter she was taking pieces of him and he couldn't stop her because giving them felt so damn good.

Sweat cooled on his chest and it left him feeling damp and grimy. He rolled over onto his stomach, his cock rested in the wet stop she vacated. It was still warm. He drifted to the sounds of her padding around the room until he felt the bed dip.

"House?"

He snored for effect.

"House?"

Her hair kissed his cheek before her lips followed.

"Forgive me," she whispered.

The door shut with a muted click. House opened his eyes and rolled onto his back, away from the wet spot.

"Forgive me," he said to the silence.


	2. Welcome To Heartbreak

Disclaimer: I own nothing. The lyrics are from "Welcome To Heartbreak" by Kanye West from the album 808's and Heartbreak.

Welcome To Heartbreak

People avoided him. They parted wherever he walked and a part of him chuckled at how easily they were intimidated. He wallowed in the widened eyes and shocked gasps, especially when they noticed his shirt. Covered partially by his tan blazer, "Fuck For Peace" glared from his white-T while John Lennon and Yoko smiled above the thick black letters. She should've known better than to invite him.

He hated weddings.

It wasn't the saccharine smiles that disturbed him or the stream of strangers that insisted on hugging him. It was the lie that stuck between his teeth and wouldn't be removed. No one gets married for love. Not real love, anyway, because real love needs no declarations. Weddings were just an expensive farce to prove a false normality existed where there was none. Outsiders expect you to get married. The only thing you ever wanted was to be loved.

He strolled through the grass with a smirk on his face and his eyes comfortably hidden behind his aviator shades. Why did he show? What was there to prove?

He had to know.

This was not a moment he wanted to hear about second-hand from his second batch of ducklings. He had know, had to see if she would really go through with it. He'd grown comfortable knowing she was always there if he wanted but this--getting married--he was actually going to lose her. In the permanent sense. Reason said he never really had her to begin with. His heart said he had never really let her go. So he suffered the pitying looks, the warning glares, and the rampant judgement just to see...

Wilson and Cuddy had given him a wide berth as well. Both prefering to study him from afar, probably expecting him to get roaring drunk and cause a scene. He'd thought about it, but he didn't want the lecture, or the hangover. Today he was merely the observer. He hoped he wasn't watching a future train wreck.

The crowd began shuffling towards the chairs and he limped faster, hoping to beat the crowds before they closed in around him. Images of a stray foot kicking his cane out from under him propelled him faster.

He chose the last row so she wouldn't see him as she made her vows but he picked an aisle seat on the bride's side so she would notice him as she made her procession. He didn't know why he wanted her to know he was here. He wasn't keen to analyze his motives.

He gave a mock salute to Wilson as he ushered Cuddy and her baby to seats closer to the middle. They paused, unsure of which side to sit before Cuddy tugged Wilson over to Cameron's side. It was a shame they didn't sit next to him. He had great commentary planned for this event.

Chase took his place by the alter with a few groomsmen. All smarmy, travel ad Aussie boys with shampoo commercial hair. Jerks. Chase smiled like his face was stuck. A vision of his cane hurtling through the air and landing on Chase's face made House smile.

Was she seriously going to marry this smug asshole? Was there honestly no one else?

The Wedding March started and everyone looked towards the tent that had been erected specifically for Cameron. Wilson caught him standing in front of it earlier. His eyes fixed on the white tarp, debating if he should see her now, fantasizing about how she would react. He told Wilson he was trying to catch Cameron undressing. Wilson actually believed him.

The flaps to the tent were pulled open and a collective gasp made him roll his eyes and almost miss her entrance. Every sappy, syrupy cliché flitted through his brain as his eyes traveled up the white lace to her etheral face. His smirk fell as it clicked into place like a puzzle piece: She was happy--really happy--and it stood ten feet in front of her, brushing by him as she edged closer.

His cane hand itched with the urge to flee. Suddenly the desire for her to see him rushed to his legs and became a desire to disappear. He didn't belong here, hovering over her happiness like a cloud. She deserved better. She deserved Chase.

He turned away as she approached and kept his eyes on the ground while her dress swished by. His body screamed at him to watch, to see it through, see her smile but listening alone tore at his resolve. Chase's vows settled into a background buzz but Cameron's were clear as bells. The hitch in her breath as she said she loved him. The slight waver but firm emphasis. He felt the truth. Fuck.

Everyone stood and threw petals on the happy couple; they were convieniently placed in wicker baskets hanging off the posts set along the aisle. House kept his gaze on the ground. It happened. A done deal. His shades were still on so he knew no one could see his eyes but he couldn't bear to see it. There were some things he did not need to know.

As the chairs were cleared away for the reception, he finally brought his eyes from the ground to find her staring at him from across the field. A mixture of emotions across her face. Part surprise, part fear, and part something he wished he'd never seen. Chase, of course, was oblivious to it all, smiling at everyone as they walked up and congratulated the couple but she kept staring. The setting sun illuminating her veil like a halo. She broke their gaze and made some quick excuses before she gathered skirts and headed in his direction. His legs tensed.

She came up to him with a smile and probably a "Thank you for coming," but he cut her off.

"So when do you start pumping up out little plump Aussies?"

She smiled and tilted her head. "I'm glad you came."

"Really?" he wondered.

"Yes, really," she replied.

She put her hand on his arm and stroked his forearm, much like she did when she left him--the job, when she left the job.

"Why are you here?"

"'Cause I--'cause I--," the words stuck in his throat. What was the point in saying them, she'd already done the deed but the words climbed past his fear until they tumbled out, "I love you."

Her eyes widened in her signature dumbfounded expression. Her mouth hung in an O before she controlled herself, briefly checking to see if Chase was watching. He wasn't.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"What?"

Her eyes filled with worry as her voice suddenly dropped to a manly bass.

"I asked are you sure you know where you are?"

House blinked. His shrink stared at him from behind his desk, half-standing and Cameron's worry in his eyes, while House gripped the armrests, his knuckles white.

"I was hallucinating again, wasn't I," he asked. The carpet suddenly fascinated him. He focused on the patterns until they ceased to swirl but his feet didn't feel like they were actually touching the ground. _This is real. THIS is real._

"I'm going to up your dosage and see if that helps." The doctor scribbled out a prescription while House alternated between staring out the window and running his hands across his thighs. _This is real. This is real._

"Have the hallucinations been more intense recently?"

Only since he heard the news. Cameron was married. She was fucking married.

House cradled his head in his hands.

* * *

Author's Note: For those wondering, no I have not given up on One Safe Place. I've just started taking my writing seriously and I edit a lot more than I used to. The only reason why you'll be seeing more of these drabbles is because they're quicker to write and they help me meet my word count for the day, and once I hit that, then I'm usually on a roll. I want to thank you all so much for reading this and One Safe Place. I'm amazed every time I see your reviews or see how many times someone has clicked on my stories. You guys keep me going. Fanfic is one of the few places a burgeoning writer can take risks and develop a voice in a friendly environment. Again, thank you all.


	3. Please Don't Leave Me

Disclaimer: Don't own anything. Nor do I own the song title I'm using, "Please Don't Leave Me" by Pink.

Please Don't Leave Me

He was low. Lower than low. Lower than the concrete curb currently freezing his ass; the possible infections he could be sitting in barely registering. Someone laughed from the restaurant deck above him and he turned towards the sound. People leaned over the side, drinks in hand, smiling at each other and he turned away. The image of how she left still sharp in his mind. Her widened eyes, her slackened jaw, the "How could you?" formed in her mind but her mouth too stunned to respond...fuck.

He flipped open his phone and hit 1, the sigh on the other end was annoyed but calm.

"Please tell me you did not screw up your first weekend away in the first few hours," Wilson said.

"Fine, I won't tell you."

"House."

"Stop shaking your head. I need your help," he paused. "I messed up bad this time, Jimmy."

"I said some things--" House started.

"And I assume these weren't loving endearments that sent her running."

"I believe sarcasm is my coping mechanism. Get your own."

"Ok, ok, I'm sorry continue."

House sighed. "I said some things I'm not sure an apology can fix."

"Have you tried?" Wilson asked.

"I can't. She took off. Ran out of the restaurant and hailed a cab."

"Have you tried calling her?"

"She keeps hitting the ignore button."

"Oh. Feminine anger at it's peak. Well I suggest you break out the big guns: Flowers, chocolates, maybe even hold a boom box over your head blasting Peter Gabriel."

"Wilson." The name expelled through House's clenched teeth.

"I know, I know you don't want to put yourself out there but this is Cameron. The only woman that ever loved you and could stand to be around you. Isn't she worth it?"

House nodded.

"You're nodding aren't you."

"Stop being creepy and all-knowing. That's my job."

They shared a laugh.

"Goodnight House."

"Goodnight Wilson."

House slipped his phone back into his pocket and resumed tapping his cane against his head. He closed his eyes and shut out the city noise as he tried to figure what he could say, how could he say it and make Cameron believe him.

The muted click of high heels traveled up the sidewalk until a person sat down next to him. A whiff of vanilla drifted past his nostrils.

"Don't think we're ok 'cause we're not." Cameron examined her hands as she talked. Her eyes red and puffy.

"I just came back 'cause I needed to know," she paused and turned towards him, "how could you say something like that? To me?"

"I mean, I know how ugly you can get but rarely is it without a purpose." Her eyes watered. "What was the purpose in hurting me?"

He clenched his cane and stared at the ground. "I don't know."

Then he got angry. A rising anger that choked out all his feelings of inadequacy. He felt the urge to punish her with his words, re-establish his old role is cruel mentor but what came out was "You said some hurtful things too."

"So you hurt me back like some sick contest?"

If he could, House would flee from this conversation. He was no good at sharing feelings. It was like giving away ammunition and any advantage given to the opposing party made his insides crawl.

Cameron stood up. "I love you House, even though you won't say it, even when you like to pretend you don't love me as much as I love you, I still love you. But I won't be your punching bag. Not anymore." She sniffed but kept her voice strong. "Either we're equals, or we're nothing."

She walked away.

"You just gonna let her stroll away from you like that?"

A firm, muscular leg stood inches from his side attached to a six-foot drag queen, outfitted in a neon pink mini-skirt and matching halter. House craned his neck back and saw he also had on a neon pink bob.

"We just had to eat dinner on Montrose," House muttered to himself.

"I don't think I need your love advice," House said with mock-politeness.

"Well apparently you do 'cause she's walking away and yo' ol' cripple ass is sitting here miserable," the man's voice softened. "Go after her."

"What are you, my fairy drag-queen?"

The man laughed, deep and husky and shook his head. "I'm no fairy honey but I am a queen," the man paused. "Go after her," he said again, a wistfulness in his voice that cut through House's barriers.

"For what, so she can shoot me down again 'cause I can't be the man she wants?"

"Can't you see you're the one she wants, otherwise she'da never come back to talk it out with you."

It clicked. All this time she had been telling him she loved him and he was too scared to allow himself to believe her. He jumped up and pain screamed down his leg. The drag queen cupped House's elbow and allowed House to right himself before he shoved House towards Cameron's direction.

"Go get your girl."

House hobbled down the street, past the restaurants and into the surrounding neighborhoods. He wondered how she walked so fast when he found her sitting on someone's porch.

She was beautiful, even in her misery, she took his breath away. This was it. The grand gesture. She watched him stand in front of her, pain and hurt emanating off her in waves and he made his choice.

He tossed his cane to the ground, the expensive one with the rare wood handle. She gasped. He not-so-gracefully lowered himself to his knees and his thigh protested. He mentally told it to shut up. He let his arms dangle and let her see all the things he was afraid she would use against him someday.

"I'm sorry."

"For what." Her hurt choked her voice and her pain made him cringe.

"For saying...you were just convenient."

"I don't believe you." Cameron stood up and moved to walked past him but he grabbed her arm.

"Please."

"Please what?"

"Are you really going to make me say it? It's not easy kneeling here with a bum leg, you know."

Her eyes softened and he could tell she wanted to help him, lift him up like she always did but this time she held herself back.

"What do you want House. Honestly. In plain English, hold the sarcasm." She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms.

"I want you to stay." His fingers forced their way into her fist, gliding across her palm and linking their hands.

"Stay with me."

She stared at their joined hands, a part of her waiting for him to revert back, to say something hurtful but his eyes didn't lie. He was serious. She pressed her lips to the back of his hand. A silent acceptance.

"C'mon. The night is still young." She paused. "Unlike you."

"And I'm heartless."

House stiffly stood with Cameron's help and he leaned on her while she leaned down and picked up his cane.

"Where did you learn such heartfelt gestures? Wilson?"

"If I had listened to Wilson, I'd be standing here with a boom box blaring Peter Gabriel."

Cameron scrunched her nose. "Yeah the kneeling was a better touch."


End file.
